Dakimakura
by A Deed Without a Name
Summary: Life's rough for Sam at thirteen, and he doesn't know what he'd do without his big brother. Part of him only wishes Dean were bigger. WARNING: Contains Weecest, chubby!Dean, stuffing, alcohol-clouded decision-making, and some feeder tendencies from Sam


As soon as he saw Dean out in the parking lot, flannel rolled up to his elbows and hands in his pockets, Sam sprinted for him. His backpack struck his shoulder blades like a clip slamming home when he stopped, arms practically flying around his brother. He buried his face in his chest, breathing in cologne and sweat and the almost-vanilla thing Dean smelled like always. There was a lot of softness in that hug. Sam pressed into it, felt a little better, didn't care who saw him.

It hadn't been a great day for him.

"Whoa. Hey." Dean stumbled back a little bit in surprise when Sam latched onto him then, after a second of hesitation, put his hands on his slender shoulders. "What's up? You, uh…you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam mumbled into Dean's warmth. "Just…the usual."

It was the same at every goddamn school they went to, state by state, dotting the country, almost word-for-word, move-for-move, like every kid in America was comparing notes on how to get on Sam Winchester's case. He knew they weren't, not like he was important enough for some giant conspiracy involving him, but it sure as hell felt like it sometimes.

"Well, least it's a Friday." Dean went to pry Sam off himself, and Sam went, looking up at him. Dean offered him a crooked smile. "Two whole days before you gotta go back. Just you and me, the whole weekend."

"'Less Dad gets home." Sam felt bad the second Dean's reaction flashed across his face, wished he could take it back. He cleared his throat instead, eyes cutting away as he started off through the parking lot. Cars around them, other eighth-graders, stares from them and their parents. "So…what's for dinner?"

"Hit the store before I came and got you, actually. Loaded up on snacks and stuff, y'know, things that'll keep in and outta the fridge…and I splurged some. I really wanna try my hand at pizza. We order it all the time, wanna see if mine's any better than Little Caesar's." Dean was quick to add, "Got everything on sale. Didn't even spend that much. Hopefully what's left'll last us another week or two." He noticed Sam looking up at him, ruffled his hair and gave him another smile. "You don't gotta worry about that, though. It'll all be fine. You just focus on school, and training, or else Dad's gonna blow a gasket when he gets back."

Sam wasn't actually worried about the money. Dean always made it stretch. And when he didn't, Sam pretended not to know how he'd gotten the peanut butter and bread they couldn't actually afford. "But…when'd you have time to do all this shopping? Thought you only got out 'bout ten minutes earlier than I do."

"Yeah, but we had a half-day today."

"How come I didn't hear about that?"

"Listen." There was just a little bit of an edge to Dean's voice, and Sam felt it low in his throat. "We weren't doing anything big, we never do, it was a Friday, and lots of stuff's more important than school. Oughta know that."

"But – "

"Drop it, Sammy."

Sam looked away, letting his hair fall into his eyes as they walked.

* * *

Sam helped with dinner, back at the room. Dean honestly did most of the work, and that was fine. Watching him cook was a lot like watching him take care of their weapons, cleaning guns and sharpening knives, movements sure and easy. But there was something less…grim about it. So it was more like watching him help Dad with the car, or fix little appliances. Like Sam's battered Walkman, repaired just a week ago.

Dean was a good cook. He didn't get the opportunity to show that off very often. The places they stayed in didn't usually have anything resembling a kitchen, it was a miracle this one did, and fresh ingredients cost a lot more than prepackaged junk food. Sam didn't comment on how close these were to expiring, or the weevils they picked out of the flour.

They popped pieces of shredded cheese and pepperoni into their mouths while they worked, sucked tomato sauce from their fingers. Dean grabbed Sam, smudged a dollop onto his nose, told him he had to lick it off, no hands involved. They were both laughing after about ten seconds of Sam straining to do that, and Sam felt warm and good, today and the rest of his week just a memory as tattered as a bad dream.

"So," Dean started casually, after finally thumbing off the sauce for Sam. "How was school?"

A bruise throbbed, new enough to still be red, probably, splashed across a couple of Sam's lower ribs. He swallowed. "Fine." He looked down at the pizzas, half-made. "When…when d'you think Dad'll come back?"

"I don't know. Seemed like a tough case. Some kinda swamp monsters or something. I would've killed to go, but…" Dean shifted his weight, uncomfortable. "Dad told me it was…probably better if I sat this one out."

Dean grabbed some cheese, chewed on it silently for a long time. He reached for more, but he stopped himself, and then he looked at Sam. "Look, you can't ever tell him this, and it's not really…it ain't actually how I feel. I want the hunt to go good for him, obviously, I want him to come out on top and…be okay. Obviously. But. Not gonna throw him a damn party when he comes home or anything. Not…not sure how much I'm looking forward to it."

"'Cause…'cause you gained more weight?" Sam could've kicked himself even as he was saying the words. Dean didn't answer him. _Shit_. He was just on a roll this evening.

He talked in a rush. "I-it…Dean, it's not even that much. It wasn't that much to start off with. And look at me, I'm kinda chubby, too." He went to lift his shirt to show off his stomach, soft with (bruised) ribs above it, but Dean stopped him, sauce dried on his knuckles like blood.

"That's not the same, though. Not at all." Dean went back to tossing pepperonis onto the pizzas. "You're not fat, you're just…like, little-kid soft. And that'll go away soon as puberty kicks into high gear for you. I'm…there's something else going on with me."

Dean was bigger than Sam, and not just in terms of height. There was a definite wideness to his hips, a plushness to his arms and legs, a pillowy shape to his chest that didn't really look like pecs. He didn't have a double chin by any means, but his face was definitely round. And his belly was a gently-mounded swell, soft, large, wobbling a little with every move he made. It was the biggest part of him by a long shot.

"In…I've got a health class, and they told us you gain a whole lotta weight right before a growth spurt." All the fat turned into muscle, bone. "That's probably what it is with you. They said puberty can take forever with boys, like, 'til you're twenty. You'll be really tall in the end. After all, look at Dad."

Dean was quiet again, and neither of them pointed out that he looked a whole lot more like their mother than their father, with his light hair, green eyes, fair skin. Even Sam, who'd only seen pictures of her, could tell that.

"Maybe." Dean grumbled to himself as they finished up with the pizzas. "Wish it'd hurry up and get here if that's the case."

Sam couldn't think of anything else to say that could possibly fix what he'd broken, so he tried something else. Just leaned against Dean for a second after the pizzas were perfected, sharing his warmth, his heartbeat. He sank a little into him and he liked that. They'd always had their own special kind of talking-through-touching ever since they were really young, but Dad had been snapping at them a lot lately about being too damn close. Dad wasn't here right now, though, Sam thought smugly.

It actually did seem to help. Dean put an arm around Sam, briefly, and then he went to put the pizzas in the toaster oven, which was the closest thing they had to a real one.

* * *

They watched TV while dinner cooked, flipping through the channels, arguing about what to watch. Things were easy and good again, even if it made Sam feel a little weird for his small hip to be practically locked against Dean's bigger one on the battered, saggy couch. He assumed that it was just because he was hungry. He'd heard and read about stuff like this, butterflies in your stomach or whatever, but he'd also picked up that brothers weren't supposed to make you feel like that.

Brothers were supposed to wrestle with you, then shove you easily back down onto the couch because they were so much bigger than you, and beat you to the kitchenette when the timer on the oven went off. Which was exactly what Dean did, smirking over his shoulder with Sam as he got the honor of taking the pizzas out of the oven. Sam rolled his eyes.

They ate, rolling ember-hot dough and cheese and sauce around in their mouths, cooling burnt tongues off with soda (Sam) and beer (Dean). Gravity and busted springs had them squashed together again in the middle of the couch.

The news was on, Sam's choice because Dean had gotten to the pizzas first. But Sam grabbed the remote with greasy fingers and hastily switched to a _Stooges _rerun because the anchors were talking about a murder in Minneapolis, terrible, violent, had the police stumped, and it whispered _ghost _harshly into the core of Sam's brain.

He didn't wanna think about hunting right now. Just good food, and Dean. Who looked at him, maybe puzzled, maybe getting it, but didn't say anything.

Sam could feel Dean filling up as the two of them polished off the pizzas together, along with more than a handful of bottles. Dad had left beer behind and Dean was hitting it pretty hard, which Sam didn't like, but...it was a Friday. When they were finished, Dean burped loudly, putting a hand on his stomach, noticeably larger. Sam made a face and shoved him a little.

"Dude. Gross."

"Maybe we'll make burritos next time and see who's gross then."

Dean's mood started changing then, now they were finished. Little by little. Especially as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. Sam could feel it, practically read his thoughts, him taking stock of how much he'd eaten and how full he was. Dean shifted on the battered cushions, half-glanced towards the kitchen. Sam knew he could eat more and that he probably wanted to. He wasn't sure, though, that he was going to let himself. Sam could sense the guilt and self-loathing after all the practice he'd had at it, and it was rolling off Dean like raindrops, pooling between them. Sam's pizza wasn't sitting so well in his own stomach all of a sudden.

"Um, hey." Sam cleared his throat and stood up. "I…kinda feel like some of those snacks you got. You want anything?"

"I don't think that'd be a great idea, Sammy." Dean tried to run a hand through his hair, winced when he hit the gel.

"C'mon. I want something sweet. Don't you?" The fridge was small and looked like it'd probably been built before their car, but it worked okay, and when Sam checked inside he found ice cream. Rocky road. He grabbed two spoons, and another beer for Dean.

Dean didn't try to argue again. Just made a face when Sam brought it all over and warned him, "You better stay on your side of the carton. Last thing I need's any of your little brother germs."

"Don't worry." Sam peeled the lid off. "I don't want any of your cooties."

Sam did eat some of the ice cream. Barely any, though, just a couple spoonfuls, and maybe that was for the best, since he was already pretty full. Dean finished the entire carton basically all by himself, not to mention another couple beers. He seemed shocked when he realized that. Shocked and ashamed.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy, can't believe you let me do that," Dean mumbled. He'd started slurring, the edges of his words going just a little soft.

"Hey. Hey. It's okay." Sam shrugged. "It was about to expire anyway. That's why you got it so cheap. It was probably good to eat it all at once, so it didn't get those gross crystals all over it."

He moved closer, as much as he could, so that their thighs were pressed entirely together, hip to knee, Sam's so much shorter and thinner than Dean's. His side was sunk into the little pocket of chub right above Dean's hip and that felt oddly nice.

Dean grunted as he put the empty carton off to the side. His shirt had ridden up some, and between that and his undone jeans, Sam could see pale, freckled skin. It was dusted with a little wispy hair, a bit darker than the stuff on his head, and all that made him feel weird. Like his groin was throbbing, getting tight. He almost wanted to put a hand on Dean's belly, his bare skin, but didn't.

Sam cleared his throat, and his voice came out sort of weird when he asked Dean, "D'you want something…salty now?"

Dean shook his head. After eyeing him for a long couple seconds, hard, Sam figured he just actually was full. Not afraid of Dad.

"You want something to drink, then?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Nothing. No more beer, no soda…I'm really kinda feeling it. And I'm packed pretty full." He smiled wryly, only half his mouth moving. "Not like that's anything new for me."

Sam frowned, bothered. He hesitated, then laid his head on Dean's shoulder, and there was no space at all left between any part of them now. Dean put an arm around him like it was normal and no big deal. He was soft. Pillow soft, marshmallow soft.

Dean's belly gurgled, and Sam felt it in his own middle. Things were weird there, and down between his legs, still. His hand moved on its own and he didn't even realize until it was resting on Dean's gut, looking so small there. Dean's belly was full and round and almost…taut, under the soft, worn band T-shirt he was wearing. Their dad's, long on Dean but also nearly too narrow.

Dean trembled for a second under Sam's fingers. Sam nearly jerked his hand back.

"Sorry," he said softly. "You want me to…?"

"You don't have to." Dean paused, and when he spoke again, he seemed confused. Embarrassed. "It…actually feels kinda good."

Sam started to rub. Just a little. Kind of ghosting his hand back and forth over the curve of Dean's stomach more than anything. "How 'bout that?"

"Yeah. That, too."

Sam pressed harder, as he got braver. Dug the heel of his hand into the fat, feeling out Dean's full belly. Dean burped, and something in Sam fluttered at that. He couldn't help thinking about how all of the food inside him (pizza, soda, beer, ice cream) was the kind that usually tended to make people put on weight. Most of the food that they ate was, actually. Diner food, fast food, microwaved stuff, snacks that came out of bags and sealed packages…it'd been that way for as long as Sam could remember. Maybe it made less sense for Sam to still be as small as he was than it did for Dean to be so heavy.

Something twitched, below his belt, and Sam sucked in a breath.

He screwed his eyes shut. He wasn't sure whether or not he liked this, but he definitely wasn't going anywhere. Pressing harder into Dean, Sam's face rested against the side of his chest, and he could feel powerful muscle underneath the doughy swell.

"I like that you're so soft." He half-hoped that the whisper would be too muffled for Dean to hear. It felt right to admit it, though, somehow, as he was rubbing his belly. The room was small and warm around them..

"Really?" Dean sounded really surprised, and kinda drunk. "Is it 'cause weight's something you're finally better at than me? Skinny little son of a bitch."

He was mostly joking, but not entirely, and Sam could tell. He snorted. "No."

"It's okay. Gotta be tough to suck so hard at shooting and sparring and knife-throwing."

"Stop being such a jerk."

"Soon as you stop being such a bitch." Something expectant relaxed inside Sam. He rested more of himself against Dean

There was something so…inviting to him. For Sam, it felt so much better, so much easier, to hug or touch or sleep beside his brother than it did their father, who was all hard angles and flat planes. Not that Dad did all that much hugging.

"You feel like…" _Love. Family. Safety. _Sam thought about pressing up close to Dean in the middle of the night, after he'd had a nightmare. Pillowing his head on Dean's stomach while he was reading or watching TV, sinking his face into his chest during hugs…it felt like Dean was big enough, nearly, for Sam to vanish into him if he ever needed to, and there was something bizarrely comforting about that.

"If you really like all this flab, then guess that makes one of us," Dean said, bleakly, after about a minute.

"I do like it." Just to hammer his point home, Sam rubbed a little more firmly into Dean's stomach. "I really do. And you should like it, too. O-or at least be okay with it…Dad's totally wrong. You're fine." Sam swallowed and, kind of like when he'd touched Dean without thinking about it, the words just sort of came out of him. "I'd be fine if you were even bigger."

Sam's eyes darted up to Dean's face, sure there'd be shock there, maybe disgust. He was just waiting for Dean to shove him away and get up. It didn't happen, though. Instead, a few seconds passed, and then Dean thoughtfully asked, "Really?"

"Of course," Sam said honestly. "You're my big brother. I…" He hesitated, but felt, somehow, like Dean wouldn't make fun of him for saying this right now. "Love you."

Sam moved then, up and over so he was half in and half out of Dean's lap, straddling his plush thigh. He had a knee between his legs, pressing into the hot, tight spot where Dean's jeans covered his groin. Maybe they were too small for him there, it kind of felt like it. Dean's belly was against Sam's thigh, his stomach, and it felt good, heat rolling back and forth between them. Dean didn't say a word about where he was, didn't ask him what he was doing. Sam could've sworn he felt Dean pushing him up with the arm he had around him, actually, and it was easy, Sam was tiny, light. His bruises hurt some, but he didn't flinch. Lots of stuff was more important.

Their eyes locked naturally. Dean's were so green, a dark olive in the dim motel room, but Sam'd seen them light up like emeralds before in the sunlight, or when headlights flashed across them deep in the night. Sometimes they were a pale gold, flat, and sometimes they were like ponds in the Everglades, deep and cool and dangerous enough to be exciting. They were a little unfocused right now, after the beer, pupils dark and warm. Sam wondered if everything was floaty and distant for Dean at the moment. The few times he'd drunk, it'd been like that for him, and he still didn't know if he liked it or not.

A fringe of hair fell across Sam's eyes, feathering the upper half of his vision. It was getting pretty long and Dean hadn't made him cut it. That was another thing that Dad was gonna be pissed about when he got home but it was okay, it didn't matter. The only thing that did was this exact moment.

"You…" Sam faltered. "Is this…?"

"'S fine." Dean didn't look totally sure, and he said it quick, like he wanted to get it out before he could change his mind. But he still said it. "Just fine."

Both of them were panting, flushed, breathing each other's air, and Sam wasn't sure what was going on. It really kind of scared him but it felt good, too. He wanted it to keep happening more than he'd wanted anything else in his entire life. Maybe even more than he wanted to be normal, more than he wanted to stay in one place for longer than a couple months at a time, more than he wanted a dog.

With his hand still on Dean's stomach, Sam put another one on his chest, tentatively. Dean allowed him to, and that was thrilling, excitement curling up the back side of Sam's stomach. He almost never got to touch Dean this much. Dad was just so weird and they _were_ brothers. Leaning was okay, hugs, sides touching on the couch or when they had to share a bed, but Sam knew they weren't supposed to feel each other out like this.

Sam couldn't deny he was enjoying it, though, pressing on Dean's belly, sort of massaging his chest, leaning closer and closer to him. Their eyelashes were practically touching and Sam still felt like, maybe, it wasn't close enough yet.

"Soft," Sam said quietly. "You…you can eat so much."

"Don't remind me." Dean's voice was sounding pretty husky, even deeper than normal.

"I think it's a good thing." Sam paused, not entirely sure why he was telling Dean this, not entirely sure he wouldn't regret it. "I think…I like it."

He couldn't look Dean in the eye anymore, so his gaze flicked down. He found Dean's mouth, so pink, lips so full. It was pretty, Dean's mouth. Kind of like how girls wanted their mouths to look.

Sam thought about putting his mouth on Dean's, like he'd seen in movies and on TV, between guys and girls. Then he quickly rejected the idea, blushing even harder. Brothers didn't kiss.

But it was hard to keep the thought out of his head as Dean started touching him back, tentatively. His hair, his hip. Dean's hands burned on Sam but in a good way, and Sam sucked in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut again, biting his lip. He realized all of a sudden that he had an erection, half-trapped against his thigh by his baggy jeans…why? He was so confused, and he felt kind of bad, but something inside him was whispering that this was absolutely right, this whole thing. This was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

He swallowed.

"You like me like this?" Dean asked in that same husky voice. "You like me big? You…wish I were bigger, don't you?"

Sam was nodding the whole time Dean was talking, breaths coming short and juddery. "Already told you all that."

He was still thinking about kissing Dean, and other thoughts started to worm their way in, crowding around that one inside Sam's head. Dean eating more, just for him. Belly huge and bloated all the time, full of junk food, just constantly. Sam hand-feeding him. Dean outgrowing his clothes, Dad's clothes, getting bigger, softer, more and more freckled flesh to him, getting so big that Sam could lay on top of him. Cuddle into him. Sink into him, way more than he could right now.

There was a tight, hot feeling deep in Sam's stomach, building. He wanted to grind his hardness on Dean's thigh, but knew it was wrong that he was feeling like this.

His eyes were still closed as he rubbed harder and harder into Dean's stomach with his one hand. Dean groaned, and it was a sound of enjoyment, one he seemed to be trying to keep in.

Sam dropped his head, whispering so quietly he hoped Dean didn't hear it. "I-I'd love it. Really. So much, if you…kept getting bigger."

"How big?" Dean paused, and Sam squirmed. "Like, big enough I'd have to stop hunting?"

Sam gasped, because it felt like a lightning bolt had hit him between the legs. He pressed harder on Dean, more of his weight behind it, and Dean groaned again, then burped. "Th-that'd be…perfect."

Dean stiffened then, all of a sudden, his breath sucking in and then not releasing until he choked out, "Sammy." Sam wasn't sure what was happening. Or what it was about it that hit him like an angry werewolf jumping out of a tree. But then he was shuddering all of a sudden, feeling better than he thought he'd ever felt before. It was a sensation he vaguely remembered from dreams, actually, from when he was lots younger, but it was so much better when he was awake. Instinct and muscle memory took over and, even though he didn't want to, he found himself grinding into Dean's thigh, and it was soft but there was a firmness there too, and it was _awesome_.

Noises he was barely aware of slipped out of Sam. He buried himself in Dean, holding onto his shirt for dear life, to the pudge beneath it, and he hoped in the back of his mind that he wasn't hurting him but it didn't seem like he was. Sam rode the wave, crested, crashed back down, and it was over too quick but at the same time he was afraid more of it might kill him.

Sam drifted slowly back to normal. His heart was bruising itself against his ribs and he was feeling fuzzy and tired, warmth pooled in his stomach, kind of like after a long research or training session but better, maybe. He realized dimly that there was a wet spot on the inside thigh of his jeans. It'd come from his dick, which was so tender right now it almost hurt inside his boxer briefs. He was laying on Dean, whole body draped over his bulk, and he slowly pushed himself up.

When he looked at Dean, he was breathing hard, pupils blown and mouth wet. To Sam, he looked like he couldn't believe what'd just happened.

There was something between them right now, something less than physical, but Sam could feel it as clearly as he could Dean's swollen belly. It was brand new, birthed from what'd just happened, and it might be wonderful if it had a chance to grow, but it was also so, so fragile. It could die with one word and Sam had no idea how to protect it.

Dean cleared his throat before Sam could focus enough to start thinking about it. He raked a hand back through his hair, pulled through the gel this time so flakes of it dusted his shoulders, and then he looked away. Sam was scared breathless for a second. Braced himself, again, to be pushed off Dean's lap.

All Dean said, though, was, "Actually. Think I will take something salty." Even after clearing his throat, his voice was highway gravel and car exhaust. The lullaby of Sam's whole childhood.

Sam scrambled off of Dean. His legs almost gave when his feet hit the floor, but he steadied himself with a hand on his brother's knee. His eyes skated over Dean's jeans, and they were dark so it was hard to see, but sure enough: wet patch on the thigh. Same as him, lots bigger than his. Sam swallowed, all jittery and weird but so, so good.

"Chips okay?" Sam asked, and his voice was funny, too.

"Yeah. And…a beer." Dean sighed. Fingers through the hair again. "I need another beer. Maybe you oughta grab one, too."

Sam swung around the couch on shaky legs, heading for the kitchenette, and maybe his lips managed to brush Dean's temple as he passed so close to him. Maybe he tasted shampoo and sweat and hair gel, and maybe Dean sort of leaned in towards him.

Maybe that fragile thing between them got just a little bit stronger.


End file.
